


Changing Platforms

by Rider_of_Spades



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angry Xanxus (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, Divorce, M/M, Mafia Boss Sawada Tsunayoshi, No Sasagawa Kyouko Bashing, Post-Canon, Vongola Decimo Sawada Tsunayoshi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rider_of_Spades/pseuds/Rider_of_Spades
Summary: "Tsuna had long since sensed the cracks in their marriage. More than sensed. It wasn’t fights–they had always been a very pleasant couple, that much was agreed upon, and envied–nor was it some affair. Kyoko had been a faithful, loving wife for as long as she was his, and Tsuna had been just as romantic and attentive.Somehow, their marriage had melted into this pretence and become bewildered."Because when you walked away and left some things behind, you also moved in a new direction.
Relationships: Past Sasagawa Kyouko/Sawada Tsunayoshi, Sawada Tsunayoshi/Xanxus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	Changing Platforms

The sky is torn across

This ragged anniversary of two

Who moved for three years in tune

Down the long walks of their vows.

-“On a Wedding Anniversary” by Dylan Thomas

…..

_“You just don’t look at me like you used to anymore,” she sighed. Then she upped and left._

…...

Tsuna had long since sensed the cracks in their marriage. More than sensed. It wasn’t fights–they had always been a very pleasant couple, that much was agreed upon, and envied–nor was it some affair. Kyoko had been a faithful, loving wife for as long as she was his, and Tsuna had been just as romantic and attentive.

It was just how the love-making was always cautiously vanilla now ( _and often too sober_ ), how the painstakingly conjured gifts had become generic roses. How random conversations bridging and discovering the two worlds, the one around them and inside them, had meandered off into Tsuna’s censored talk, and Kyoko’s sexless topics of their household and children. How the sense of _wanting_ her, of fitting his soul to hers, stopped being either the spitfire purpose of life or a gentleness larger than himself. How they had settled into the land of the routine, the dutiful and expected.

Somehow, their marriage had melted into this pretence and become bewildered.

……

_“Do you ever wonder? If we might’ve turned out differently?” He’d muse aloud to her later, after he’d buried the nostalgia and had-beens. Awaited the answer while holding his breath. No matter how friendly the terms of their estrangement, this was still a dangerous question._

…..

That was also in part his fault. Had he not questioned in his sleep, secretly, guiltily, despite all being as well as could be hoped for? Of how his life could’ve been like if nearly all of it weren’t staged since he was fourteen? Of how mellow this man’s voice could be, how soul-sucking that woman’s eyes, and that unforgettably sinuous male stripper who’d woken up his full sexuality at twenty.

All of which could’ve meant nothing, but he wasn’t the only one to stick his head in the proverbial sand. There had also been Kyoko’s inability to conciliate her kind, darling husband with the reality of her warm, freshly-dead kidnapper–not monster, but _man_ , desolate, unlucky man hell-bent on a vendetta for his daughter–the man who’d spilt his guts on the floor after spilling his sad story.

(And other little things she’d explained away in her own mind, of course. But those had nothing on the slick, unforgiving concreteness of Tsuna’s practised calm and steady yank on the trigger.)

As Tsuna glanced down at her broken eyes and their wailing firstborn, he had known there was no repairing this. Even so, he should’ve reached harder as she retreated into the safe haze where his Guardians were just “old friends”, who clouded the periphery of a _stable_ , _normal_ life; where the Vongola, if it cropped up at all, could be encased in silence or uneasy euphemisms. He should’ve given in to Reborn’s dissatisfaction. 

(Never mind how hard he had reached before, how desperate. How pained, how _tired_.)

Then their forbearing, intelligent children grew into teenagers, and hormones teased out the years of hardship-matured resentment.

…...

_“Can’t say,” She sipped her iced tea, pointing out. “We’d stopped working so long ago that I can barely remember.”_

_There. A brief second, when he’d wanted to hate her distant amiability._

_That is, if he hadn’t his own lack of repentance._

…..

To be honest, they had already done their best. Even Macario, with his more pronounced temper. But it wasn’t fair, hadn’t been fair on them, to have to understand what to hide from their mother, how to carefully curtail their speech and listen for what the rest of the Mafiosi wouldn’t say to their faces. Not at an age when they should’ve been permitted their innocence.

It had started, of all people, with their daughter. Tsuna had been about to go to Hong Kong for three days. Kyoko had only finished asking cheerily which shirts he’d prefer for this “business trip”, when Mikoto, sweet, patient Mikoto, spoke in a strange voice she’d never used before. Tsuna’s Hyper-Intuition had prickled his neck before her words even kicked in.

_Business trip? Why won’t you call it what it_ really _is?_

Tsuna had not been equipped to deal with such an uproar from his children. He really was not. This was nothing like his son’s occasional walk-offs and refusals to talk, or his daughter’s rare, half-hearted sulks. There was screaming: Tsuna’s angry orders overridden by shouts. There was devouring, of pretences.

Mikoto’s tears. Kyoko begging everyone to stop _, please, STOP_.

By the end, as Macario exited quietly behind his sister’s rampaging form, Tsuna met his wife’s overwhelmed, hurt-reddened eyes truly registering him, a first in sixteen years and realised–

It was done.

Yet the ring still bit much harder around his fourth finger than the nails did on his clenched palm.

……

_“By the way, how’s the boutique been getting along?”_

_“Splendid,” she beamed. “The bank has just approved our loan, and we’ll be meeting a supplier. Work has also been progressing smoothly on the shop lot, though Patrick and Ndidi can’t seem to agree on the theme. I swear, those two! They’ve been driving Giuliana_ crazy. _”_

_“Well, I’m glad that things have been fine.”_

_“Thank you.”_

….

Still, he hadn’t anticipated the divorce papers to be served up suddenly and politely three years later, after an everyday breakfast. He should’ve been more dismayed, but even part of that had been adulterated by the relief–that this was over, no more hiding; that his son and daughter, newly away at college, could no longer be damaged by their separation.

(Or their union.)

His mouth itched to form, “Can we still talk about this?”, but he could just hear her answer, “Could you have thrown away that life for me?” So he said nothing as he signed the papers.

The next half-year whirled. It whirled through daytime jobs and the moments where he jolted awake at night, waiting for her light snore. Waiting for the lavender lacing her hair, and the bed curving downwards near his spine, to acknowledge her weight nearby. Waiting for the rasp of her clothes, her towel on the rack, the alphabetical arrangement of books on the shelves–because she hated a mess–only to be greeted by–nothing.

(But these were minor melancholia-annoyances, concerning _no one_ who didn’t already expect them, so for all intents and purposes the separation was easy.)

The process, too, had been distressingly tidy. There hadn’t been any need for legal settlements except on their joint account and investments. Kyoko had even refused the penthouse, and the Audi was more like a parting gift. There was also no question about the delegation of custody: the Vongola needed its heirs, and with the younger of their two eight months away from legal age it was merely a formality.

Summer came and went. Kyoko arrived dressed in the denim coat and frock she wore to visit friends. Tsuna noted the scarf with a pang; he had given her that on their first leisurely trip to Venice.

Haru was also present, greeting Tsuna with genuine (though determined) bubbliness. If there was one thing all three had agreed upon, it was that by no account should Tsuna and Kyoko’s relations affect their mutual friendships. In a way it had been a relief to have her around, someone who would remind Tsuna that other things hadn’t changed. It also helped to have Macario’s birthday party as their focus: between the guest lists and catering, the next few hours concluded without a hitch.

Although, that didn’t prevent the slip of common sense once Haru went to take a call, and left him with his ex-wife. “Look,” He stretched out a hand, not quite touching her, but she stopped anyway. Except, what was there left to say? Sorry? Good luck? Her rueful smile said she’d already heard them all in his hesitation.

She was at the door before he’d fully processed it, saying thank you, and in the time it took for her soulful warmth to give the words all their sincere gratitude, Tsuna’s heart almost wanted to beat faster–

Then he was watching her willowy back again between the bodyguards. Her yellow dress blended in serenely with the swaying leaves.

Life wasn’t a soap opera, marked at exact moments by pure, appropriate emotions. This was nevertheless a good occasion as any to get drunk just for the sake of it.

…...

_“And you?” his ex-wife asked. “How are things progressing with him?”_

_The Decimo paused, feeling as if he’d committed some mental misstep. “Uh, what?”_

_“Oh,_ Tsuna _,” and it sounded like he was being reprimanded for forgetting some errand again. “No one that impatient is going to wait another year, let alone_ forever _.”_

_All he could do was blink at his ex’s cryptic choice of words._

…..

“She’s still very beautiful, you know,” he explained morosely, peering into his empty shot glass. “That spark, it’s like it’s not aged a day over thirty. And she always was a good mother, a good wife, despite everything. Wonderful listener too.”

“Which I would _not_ care to be,” Xanxus sneered, lip curling. “Just how in the blazes did I end up as your drinking partner?”

“Because, well,” The don waved his hand through vague motions, wariness all loosened from the years and the alcohol. “Yamamoto and Gokudera are out on a job, Ryohei’s loud, Lambo and Fuuta are technically my younger brothers, and Mukuro is _Mukuro_.” The last was punctuated by a shudder. (Hibari, of course, was never to be mentioned in the same breath as unnecessary socialising.)

The Varia leader privately agreed. That mind-game-obsessed illusionist was also the last person he’d prefer to get inebriated around (though Bel’s “oopsy-daisy” giggles and knives came at a close second).

“And I figured you might want to uncork the Bruichladdich.” 

“Damn straight,” Xanxus signalled the bartender. “You’d better be footing the bill for this.”

Tsuna tipped the last of his glassful wordlessly down his throat.

….

Then the bar and night-hours began to shut themselves in, and there was only so much even an alcoholic could imbibe.

It wasn’t practical, it wasn’t ideal, for two stoned elite members of the famiglia to go winding down the streets, however feared and powerful. But Tsuna made a stubborn, if polite, drunk, and Xanxus wanted what he wanted, fuck you very much, plus, when was the last time that either one of them walked the streets?

Screw the Varia! He needed a vacation.

For now, the grainy cobblestone beneath his soles and chill stiffening his muscles would have to suffice. Present, less-than-ideal company too.

Although, Sawada did compensate for himself by minimising any aspects of unpleasantness. He’d also fallen into a sleepy compliance, thus obediently allowing Xanxus to drag him about.

His younger self would’ve been more enraged and contemptuous at this. He would’ve sneered at how naïve Sawada was to trust him, an enemy, would’ve used the opportunity to instil a lesson. The aged, ( _slightly_ ) tired man, however, had spent decades grudgingly admiring his adversary. So he simply grumbled and adjusted the deadweight, trying his best to ignore the warm, curving press of silk against his torso. The respirations tickling his pulse. The tease of quaintly old-fashioned cologne, beneath that insistent whiff of scotch.

Being aware of their bodyguard fleet watching around the corners helped.

It was a measure of how deep he was beneath his thoughts and the alcohol, that his feet sensed the hotel porch before his head. For a while they stumbled, engaged in an awkward dance, as arms tightened around arms and––

––moonlight doused the both of them, stripping Sawada’s upturned face of every possible illusion of summery youth. Transforming him into everything that wasn’t the child he despised. _More_. Xanxus squeezed his eyes shut.

_Fuck._

He was already divorced wasn’t he?

So.

Keeping one’s enemies close enough to kiss.

……

Tsuna woke up in bed alone. It was impossible to tell if there had been anyone in it with him–his consciousness was still stinging, and another bed, a single, stood next to his own–but there was a look about Xanxus’s eyes as he emerged from the bath, fully clothed, that had a freeze-frame slicing through the veil of Tsuna’s sleep and his heart jackrabbiting.

_–more a prosaic act of mouth touching mouth, just before Tsuna collapsed into sleep, the last thing he heard being Xanxus’s half-cussed complaint that his breath reeked_ –

The man, good _God_ , was staking him with a gaze so confrontational, whilst Tsuna’s mouth ran autopilot–“I–you–uh, good morning?”–like he’d left his brains at the bar. Luckily, the clock was right behind Xanxus, allowing him latch onto that. “Oh, look at the time!”

Then whatever remained of his concentration was directed at fleeing into the bathroom and leaving his source of distress by himself.

It was only as his universe stopped shaking, and filled his stomach with an odd wave of queasy regret that he calmed himself, and hurriedly opened the door–Xanxus was gone.

………

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this.

…Could he?

_Was this what you meant? Kyoko?_

The scandalised part of his mind gave a cry. _But that’s_ Xanxus!

Not to mention how they were both males, both Mafiosi in esteemed posts. To say the consequences of either being tremendous was an understatement.

He was already over forty, for goodness sakes! And too engaged in his work, too concerned for his children. Also freshly divorced, for only _ten months_. Wasn’t there supposed to be some decent waiting period of pure bachelorhood, to be observed before one moved on?

_What if it’s just a rebound?_

He groaned. God, he was sitting in a chair built obscenely like a throne, at the literal peak of the mafia world–behaving like a _teenager._

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

In any case, it wasn’t like he could do anything without Xanxus’s own consent. Which he was surely beyond now.

…..

_“Vooooiiii,”_ Squalo drawled, in a tone that was deadly soft for him and doubly unnerving. Especially considering how the laryngeal injury had given his voice all the charms of a gravel-scraping buzzsaw. “Have you _ANY_ idea what you did to him???”

Tsuna sighed, feeling the warning signs of a headache. “Squalo–”

“Bad enough that he should win a fucking PRIZE for denying himself; apparently Hyper Intuition can’t do SHIT in preventing some people from becoming retards as well. Or do you get _your_ rocks off from frustrating the rest of us TOO?! A month, one DAMN _MONTH_ since the guards have reported you both checking into the same _godforsaken_ _ROOM_ , and still _freaking_ NOTHING–”

“ENOUGH,” Tsuna thundered, drawing to his full stature. “You forget yourself, Varia Squad Captain!”

But the assassin was not to be cowed. “Then explain to me,” He snarled, “Why you two aren’t sickeningly all over each other like you’re supposed to be, why he’s sitting there going _stir-crazy_ _on his ass when he’s not trying to kill everybody_ –”

“ _Because_ simple animal attraction is _not_ adequate reason for two adults to go for each other–”

“ANIMAL ATTRACTION MY ASS!” The swordsman roared, going into full-blown screaming. “DO YOU THINK I’M FREAKING BLIND, OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ALL THOSE PARTIES, FUNCTIONS AND SHIT??? HOW YOU TWO BEHAVE AROUND EACH OTHER???”

_Like he could._ Sometimes, he amused himself just trying to trace the start, like _how_ did it get to this point where he noticed how well Xanxus’s form fitted his tux? And the man’s _intelligence_. Kami, Tsuna really did enjoy their occasional, surprisingly conflict-free banter far too much. Not to mention the precious, mind-destroying half-smiles sometimes unearthed by a witty answer, and their quiet wine-savouring sessions, which often flushed him with a warmth not entirely liquor.

But there were–

“–FUCK, OF ALL THE FUCKING _BILLIONS_ OF PEOPLE HE COULD BE HUNG UP ON, WHY _YOU_ , WHY THE ONE PERSON WITH WHOM HE CAN’T EVER BE SURE OF HIMSELF–”

–the surreptitious glances, inciting a tinge of paranoia Hyper Intuition could not entirely calm, the occasional unreadable stares followed by walking off, the overly haughty but nonchalant stance, and always, whenever he met Tsuna’s eyes, a lip-curling sneer–

“–CAN’T EVEN _REACT_ , DOESN’T EVEN KNOW _HOW_ TO, LIKE SOME SAD _SCHOOLBOY_.”

Oh.

_Oh._

The Sword Emperor must’ve blown off enough steam to note the shock on Tsuna’s face, for the glare he levelled on him was not unkind. “Get you frickin’ act together.” Then off like the whirlwind, but not before punctuating the air with one last vehement, “having to play freaking _Cupid_ like I don’t have a mission to do”.

And _my_ , wasn’t his mind properly scrambled; perhaps it would be useful to do a little summary?

So:

He, Sawada Tsunayoshi, was going to pursue an _actual_ romantic relationship with a man. A rude, difficult, arrogant man, who, despite the meds and some maturation, was still given to spectacular displays of property destruction. The same man who made a murder attempt on him, thirty years ago.

The most unnerving part, Tsuna thought shakily, had to be how seriously he was considering this.

…..

He must’ve broken some sort of record for the number of times he’d been shown the Varia HQ’s door, despite its inhabitants being famously inhospitable.

Nonetheless, it was imperative he did not throw the Decimo’s weight around in approaching Xanxus, so he rested resolute knuckles upon the wood once more. Only this time, they went into free fall, and where they were supposed to be Squalo’s annoyance greeted him. “You’re going to kill us all,” he muttered, and with that certain statement Xanxus’s lieutenant stomped off–with the door conveniently unlocked.

The next one he’d had to open himself–at the expense of a vodka glass flying his way, which he caught.

_“Leave.”_

Tsuna closed the door behind himself. It was the entire, thankfully empty bottle that was lobbed next. “Oof! This must’ve been pretty expensive,” he commented, by way of conversation. He set both on a nearby table.

Xanxus snorted and stomped over to his desk. _Honestly, what was with these Varia and their trampling?_ The don thought distantly, as booted feet hiked themselves up on antique mahogany, and the man poured only himself a drink.

“ _Well?_ What does the Decimo want?” Tsuna winced internally. He hadn’t seen Xanxus behave this impudently for the past ten years.

_At least it was a start._

“It’s, you and I need to talk. That night–”

“Was _nothing._ ” If Tsuna thought Xanxus had been hostile seconds ago, he was now positively icy. “ _There is nothing to discuss._ ”

Cue the refrained sigh of frustration. “I’m really sorry for what happened, Xanxus, but it wasn’t what you think–”

“Really,” snarled the Varia leader. “So there’s another way to interpret a man with Hyper Intuition _running_ in the face of your advances?” 

“Xanxus–”

“Save your breath, Sawada, or stick to business. If there’s none–”

“Will you believe me if I formally propose a relationship this instant?” Tsuna cut in with a rush. There. It wasn’t as he’d planned, but better than waiting on the deteriorating discussion.

Though, the heightened aura of danger that swept in almost instantly wasn’t much better. “…Are you _PITYING_ me? Because if you think I can accept this farce, _knowing_ how afraid you are–”

“I’m afraid,” Tsuna confirmed. “But I’m afraid of _us_. I’m afraid this will fail, because we know nothing of maintaining a relationship. I’m afraid my friends and children will reject _us_. I’m afraid what this will mean for the Vongola, how we will be received by neutral parties and the Family’s allies. I’m afraid that this,” His eyes closed, left hand curling to hide a steadily darkening band of skin.

_I’m afraid that this will be the same._

_But of you, I’m not_ _afraid._

“So you don’t know _anything_ ,” Xanxus answered harshly, stepping into his personal space. “You’re jumping into this, asking ME to jump into this fucking _blind._ ” That face belonged to a man whose certainty had suddenly rushed away from beneath his feet. The brunet stared back, calm incarnate.

“Unfortunately.” He answered, half-man, half-don. “But that’s how we can find out.” Loud red eyes bored at his being, followed by raucous laughter.

“You know what?” The Varia leader slumped, the edge to his words equally angry and tired. “Fuck you, and fuck this shit.” Then he leant in.

They kissed and kissed, finding no fireworks on the other’s chapped lips. Worse: it felt natural, like they were only just waking up, to something they didn’t realise they were already part of. Eyes slowly widened (Xanxus’s with resigned reluctance, Tsuna’s with dazed trepidation) and bodies drew back, inelegant as children. Feet followed bumbled suggestions and set themselves towards the grounds, anywhere less conducive to desperate groping.

Whereupon Tsuna realised: He didn’t want this to be perfect.

Not someone who could be agreeable and happy with him, but someone who truly saw the contradictions that he was, bloodstains in his armour and intact morals–but still wanted _him_. It begged the question of whether he’d been waiting for someone like Xanxus all along.

There was still the issue of breaking the news to the children, but that would come to it later.

For now, it was enough, to watch his lover struggle to stay at a socially acceptable distance, while debating the advisability of simply reaching out his own hand–and to want with a newborn hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tsuna’s children’s names: Macario, Italian for “blessed, happy”. Mikoto, Japanese for “precious”. No matter what happened between them, Tsuna and Kyoko love their kids very much.


End file.
